


Who Are You

by wheezykins



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anger, Angst, Betrayal, Canon Expansion, Gen, Spoilers, it's the implication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheezykins/pseuds/wheezykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place after the destruction of the chantry, Isolidor Hawke struggles with the aftermath Anders has left. She is left questioning if it was solely the act of Anders or if Justice was the one in control. Betrayal never feels good, but as the Champion of Kirkwall, she cannot stay her hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Are You

**Author's Note:**

> Just finished DA2 for the nth time and needed an outlet. Boom goes the Chantry. Pulling dialog from each possible option, I've tried to weave them together and expand on the cutscene. Can't be sure this isn't terrible, so criticism and comments are totes coolio.
> 
> Also, everything is subject to change.

“Who are you?”

The question lingered in the air. Isolidor knew that there wasn't ever going to be a sufficient answer. Even though the thing before her wasn't the man she had known, it only felt right to give it a chance for redemption. Or at least help her make sense of the bloodshed, for there was no sense to be made of this betrayal. Her clenched fists were pressed firmly to her sides, shaking with all the effort it took to not pummel the answers out of the thing that sat before her, its shoulders hunched. Repressed rage, confusion and even regret coiled in the pit of her stomach. Was this the path the Maker had set before her? How much did her faith need to be tested? The words tore at her throat, thrashing wildly, cutting at tender flesh. Maker, she couldn’t breathe.

“Answer me,” it was a whispered plea, her jaw set so tight that the sounds of the dying were washed out by the beating of her heart. The silence would drive her to tears, already her eyes burned. The one she had called friend, he only sat and condemned himself. “Was this you or Justice?” Soft, but the edges caught.

He shifted on the crate, turning his head slightly, so that she might see the face that once invited laughter. Only now, deep lines had cut the humor away, alluding to the scowl that had taken up permanent residence. “Hawke. When we merged, he ceased to be. We are one now.” The response was flat, rehearsed. “I can no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could. I wanted to tell you.” Resignation laced his confession. 

Tears rolled down Isolidor’s cheeks, etching lines on her ashen face. “I might have understood, had you told me!” The scream left her before she could stop it. Her body was numb, save for the fire that raged in her lungs. “It didn’t need to be this way. Why, Anders? You idiot!” It was the tantrum of a child, she knew it. A hand lashed out and grasped the man’s shoulder.

“And if you had tried to stop me? What choice would I have but to cut you down? What then?” Anders shook his head as he looked down at his open palms. “I couldn’t take that chance, I would have failed.” His hand moved to touch hers, a sign meant to comfort. It only made her skin crawl. She recoiled, pulling her hand close to her chest.

“You should have failed! You start a massacre to prove a point?” she spat, motioning to the ruined Chantry.

“I’m not proving a point. The world needs to see this.”

“And so it’s up to you to decide?” More tears. More screaming.

“People need to see that the Circle is not an answer. They fear what we can do, and with that fear they bludgeon us into submission. It is wrong! ” 

The stoic facade broke, if only for a second. In that second, though, he was the idealistic man she had known so many years ago. And after that second, she knew that her friend was gone.

“Who are you?” Her hand found the pommel of a dagger. Gripping it tight centered everything and made her see clearly. She dragged a sleeve across her face, drying wasted tears.

“Isolidor, it has to change and I will be the one to set it to flame. If that means paying with my life, then I pay.” The abomination stood and faced her. Resolute eyes sought out hers. She found the pavement.

Far off, the crackling of fires spread throughout Kirkwall, accompanied by the dying keens of the Gallow mages. Deep rumbles signaled the ever crumbling Chantry. She watched as another spire fell victim to gravity and met the ground it could no longer defy. It wasn’t only the brick and mortar that fell, as it wasn’t only the lives that were lost; the safety she had found in the Light of the Maker had been sullied. The shadow cast by this day would engulf all of Thedas and plunge them all into chaos. Yet, she had no words. How could she make sense of something that was inherently so senseless?

“And was it the High Cleric Elthenia’s price to pay as well?” The Starkhaven prince hissed. Clad in his luminous armour, Sebastian stepped forward, seething rage barely contained. His face was contorted in unabashed anger. “Do not hide behind your spirit. It was your hand that did this!” A notched arrow was pointed at the other man’s chest. 

A gauntleted fist eased the archer’s bow down. “Belief is no excuse.” Aveline placed herself between the two men. The guard captain was, as always, unwavering, but she did not face Anders. Instead she attempted to placate the prince. “Sincerity does not justify this, but killing him in the streets is neither justice for the Grand Cleric or the others.”

It would not do, however. Sebastian was beyond simple reasoning. “If he lives, I will return to Starkhaven and bring such an army that there'll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!” Spittle flew as he stormed past the guard captain.

The silence that followed the slap Isolidor landed on Sebastian’s cheek lingered into the abyss. “It is not your choice!”

“I-Isolidor?” He sputtered. Surprise. Confusion. Indignation. A hand gingerly brushed the reddening flesh.

“It is not your choice,” she repeated, slowly. “You. Will. Not.” She stated through gritted teeth, begging the man with words unspoken. She could not let another sully their hands. May the Maker guide her and Andraste steady her hand.

“Elthenia deserves justice!” Sebastian clung to her, pulling at her collar. The anger made him ugly. Twisted features made a mockery of the usually elegant face. 

Pushing him away proved a difficult task, but she eased out from his grasp and managed a pained smile. “I know.”

“Yes,” came the whispered reply. “I would not deny anyone’s right to that. The sooner I die, the sooner my name lives on to inspire generations.” Anders sat again, turning his back upon them. There was finality there.

She kneeled behind her friend, the familiar smell of parchment, tobacco and lyrium pulled painful memories to the forefront. She didn’t reject them. The moments were velvet, soothing. Basking in the last bit of warmth that could be found in these moments, Isolidor wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the familiar feathers. Hands, rough with callouses, engulfed hers. They squeezed gently. He was back, the man from years past. The ex-Grey Warden that left out cream for stray cats. The mage with the irreverent sense of humor. Back then, there had been no room for the vengeance that had been measured out today.

“I can’t be sorry,” he breathed, only to her. “But I’m glad that it’ll be you.”

As she stood, the Champion pressed her lips to the back of the man’s head and whispered against the golden strands, “It always had to be me. Goodbye, Anders.”


End file.
